


in the heart

by the Girl in 221C (naienko)



Series: Vignettes from the Girl in 221C [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, M/M, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naienko/pseuds/the%20Girl%20in%20221C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet evening in 221B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the heart

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place approximately a month after Irene Adler's 'death' in Karachi.

Late night in 221b. The fire in the grate is dying to bare coals, John is swirling the last of his whiskey in the glass idly without drinking it. For once the telly is off, displaced by Sherlock's violin. Summer sprawls in the floor on her belly, her feet in the air and Sherlock's on her back. The silence is mellow, easy, open, the only light in the room from the low flames.

Sherlock drops another few notes into the air, each one as distinct as crystal. Twisting over onto one elbow, Summer says softly, "How did you come to learn the violin anyway?"

John flicks his glance up to Sherlock's face, interest in his eyes. Sherlock lays down another few notes.

"It was a distraction," he says, shifting through fingerings without actually plying the bow. "In school. If I concentrated on my playing, I couldn't hear the other students whispering."

"About you?"

"Sometimes. I wasn't their only target, just the favourite."

Summer makes a soft sound of sympathy.

"They resented me for being better than they were. All they ever had to do was open their eyes to the world, but I suppose it was easier to continue coasting along obliviously." A few bars escaped the violin.

"I can't imagine that what you knew about them helped any."

"No." A coal pops in the fire. "Mycroft was gone. I was alone."

"Your parents?"

"Father was - dead. Mummy ... "

"Distracted?" Summer supplies.

"That will do. There was no one. Anyone I ... tried to be friends with became the new target. Soon no one wanted to try. I was the freak."

The words slip out of Sherlock slowly, and John thinks it's like draining a wound.

"No wonder you lash at Donovan."

"Mm. Not quite."

"You use the truth like a battering ram, Sherlock. On purpose. It's totally a lash." There's enough amusement in Summer's soft voice to let Sherlock ignore the implied insult.

"Hmph. I've got no reason to let their opinions affect me."

"So true," Summer sighs. "Stupid people shouldn't breed."

"Then there would be no puzzles to occupy Sherlock with," John comments. 

Sherlock shudders. "Perish the thought. There are so few worthy of my time now."

Summer snorts a laugh. "And a bored Sherlock is even less to be thought of. Bullets are expensive."

" _Walls_ are expensive," John adds.

On his dignity, Sherlock replies, "I haven't shot the wall in weeks."

"Because Mrs Hudson threatened to throw you out on your ear the next time," John ripostes.

"And she's the one person you actually respect," Summer adds.

Sherlock squawks. "Not true! I respect other people."

"Who?" the other two chorus, sharing a smile.

"I respect you, John."

Summer rolls herself onto her back, leaving Sherlock's feet on her stomach. "Does he respect you in the morning John?" Her grin is positively wicked.

John's mouth is wry and slightly bitter. "We're not a couple."

Summer laughs, outright and delighted.

"I'm serious," Sherlock says, his voice taking on a deeper timbre. "I do respect John." He sits up straight in the chair, planting both feet on the floor and dropping both violin and bow to his lap.

"You never listen to me," John mutters, gulping the last of the whiskey.

"That has nothing to do with respect."

Summer is trying valiantly to stifle her giggles, but at John's raised eyebrow she loses it again.

"All right then, what do you respect about me?" John folds his hands over his raised knee and regards Sherlock with a level gaze.

"Your nerves of steel," Sherlock responds promptly. "Your support."

"That all? just that I make a good ego prop?"

This time it is Sherlock's mouth that twists. He leans back, transferring his gaze to the coals over Summer's head. John leans forward in response.

Barely at the threshold of hearing, Summer whispers, "Go on."

"That you still try to take care of me," Sherlock says finally. He still doesn't meet anyone's eyes. "Even after ... everything, you're still here, reminding me to eat, and sleep, and helping me stop smoking. Watching out for me. Always watching out for me."

John's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His gaze is completely fixed to Sherlock's profile, which wears an expression of vulnerability John has never seen before.

He doesn't see Summer give a tiny nod, but Sherlock does, and so John is completely unprepared for the impact of Sherlock's eyes when Sherlock says, "I would, truly, be lost without you, John," looking right at him.

John is aware that somehow this has gone from gently needling Sherlock to something else entirely, and it flashes through his mind that this is the closest to a confession Sherlock is ever likely to make. Completely at a loss for words, he tries to make actions speak for him, holding out his hand to the other man holding his gaze. He's utterly forgotten Summer's presence at his feet, wholly absorbed in the remarkable expression on Sherlock's sharp features. It looks like yearning and tenderness.

John is not really aware of pulling Sherlock forward, or of leaning forward himself. Everything has narrowed down to the face of his best friend, the person he cares for the most in the entire world, the person he has wished would care for him. Summer hastily sitting up and pulling her legs from beneath his descending knees is, barely, distracting enough to catch his attention, and he jolts, reality crashing into his awareness.

Sherlock frowns massively, flicks a quick glance at Summer, and jerks on John's hand, pulling the shorter man roughly into his knees. Half a breath passes, and then Sherlock's lips are pressed to John's and something swoops sharply in John's stomach.

Then nothing else matters except that his hands are in Sherlock's shirt, and Sherlock's hands are around his face, and Sherlock tries to break the kiss, but John is not about to let that happen now that he's finally got the answer he didn't know he wanted. He swipes his tongue at Sherlock's mouth - tea, and biscuits, and Sherlock - and then he has to let go just a little bit because he cannot breathe.


End file.
